


took your love and I bent all the rules

by cecilia095



Category: 24 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M, Help I Can't Stop Writing 24 Fic, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilia095/pseuds/cecilia095
Summary: "Right now, all I care about is the fact that you’re alive, that you’re with me, that you walked out with nothing but a few bruises and a cut on your foot. Let’s handle the rest later, okay?”Tony and Michelle, immediately following the events of Day 4.
Relationships: Tony Almeida/Michelle Dessler
Kudos: 24





	took your love and I bent all the rules

**Author's Note:**

> Why the hell can't I stop writing '24' fic? Anyway... Jumping back into relationships is HARD WORK, and as much as I love me a good Tony/Michelle Post Day 4 reunion fic where they have car sex in the parking lot of CTU and easily confess their love to one another (no offense if you ever wrote one of those — I probably read it and freakin’ loved it, let’s be real!) real life and relationships are _messy_ sometimes. Especially when you’re in love with your ex-wife or your ex-husband and super regretting that divorce when they almost die on you! Here’s my take on what might’ve happened after all that. A little angsty, a little not, and yeah. 
> 
> I honestly LOVE writing these two, so much. They're really keeping me going during this miserable quarantine. I don't know that I exactly *adore* this piece, but I do know that it wouldn't stop bugging me to finish it, so I stayed up until four in the morning to do so. Enjoy!
> 
> (Title comes from Honeybee by The Head and the Heart.)

She surrenders the keys to her car to him easily, like she did so many times when they were married — ‘ _I’m sleepy, you drive_ ’, or ‘ _the place we’re going requires us to parallel park, so… that’s all you’_. 

Now they’re just going… Well, she called it ‘home’, but it’s just what he pictures to be a lonely one-bedroom apartment somewhere close enough to Division, somewhere far enough from the house they once owned together; the house she sold once the divorce was finalized so she didn’t have to live in a place that was once also _his_ anymore. 

He opens the passenger side door for her like he's always done and she smiles wordlessly, tiredly, tracing her fingertips in lazy patterns on the top of his hand when he sits beside her and grabs onto the gear shift. He knows she’s only touching him this much because she can’t believe she almost lost him for good, and he wonders when the euphoria, the tragedy of today will wear off and she’ll want to talk about… y’know… them, the woman he’s (still) living with, the reason she filed for divorce in the first place.

He swallows thickly when he thinks about it, choosing to stay quiet as he pulls out of the parking spot they’re in and studies the way she falls gently against the cushioned seat, just the way she did all of those times they’d driven home together from the night shift in the early hours of the morning. Her hair is frizzing from the rain, her suit is wrinkling, and the bags under her eyes are just as evident, as purple as his. Still, she’s beautiful and he can’t believe he spent six months not… being around her.

“Tony?”

He could’ve sworn her eyes were shut and she was about two minutes from a quick sleep, but he slowly lifts his right hand off the wheel and gives her knee a gentle squeeze. “Y-Yeah, baby.”

It slips out. She was just as much ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ to him as she was ‘Michelle’ at one point in time, and the familiarity of the embraces and the kisses just over an hour ago between them is fucking with his head. A day ago, she was his ex-wife who probably couldn’t say his first name without sounding eternally pissed off and scorned. Now, she seems content just hearing him answer her back, and doesn’t even blink at being called ‘baby’.

“I-I still can’t believe you’re okay.”

“I know,” is all he responds with, a lump in his throat, because he can’t believe it either. He can’t believe any of this, really, but he’s not going to chance it by hanging out in his head and questioning it, either. “Hey, when… when you said _home_ before, you meant that you wanted me to take you home, right? Like, to your place?”

Without saying anything aside from a fatigued, “Uh-huh”, she runs her fingers over his hand, the one still placed firmly on her kneecap. 

“Okay. That’s… that’s fine, but my car _is_ still in the parking lot of CTU and I’m a little overdue for a shower.”

“My place isn’t that bad, Tony. It _does_ have a bathroom, you know.” She teases, making him remember a conversation they had earlier on in the night when he asked Michelle where she’s even living now.

_‘One bedroom? Yikes. Where do all of your shoes sleep?’  
_

_‘I don’t have a husband who lends me his credit card for shopping trips anymore, so my shoe collection is pathetic these days. We manage._ ’

“And a bed,” she adds, almost seductively, he notices, when he doesn’t reply. 

“F-For me? Like, to stay?”

She shrugs and says without hesitation, “Well, yeah. Where else would you go?”, and he wants to shake her and ask her why she isn’t overthinking everything in the crazy way he is. Maybe she’s right, maybe he _does_ need a bed and perhaps fourteen, fifteen hours of uninterrupted sleep. That’s what’s making him crazy.

“You don’t want to talk about anything first? Like, the fact that we haven’t seen each other in six months and the little belongings I have are still in North Hollywood with —“

She cuts him off before he can say Jen’s name, and he gets it. It pains her, and it probably pisses her off, too, even if she’s not acting like it does. Here she was, denying someone like Buchanan's attention, someone who was in a much better position to take care of her than Tony had been at the time, all because she still loved _him_.

So while she was still getting over the pain of divorcing her husband after spending six grueling months trying to make it work, he was out shacking up with the first bartender who paid attention to his usual drink order and didn’t really give a damn that he called her by his ex-wife’s name in bed a handful of times.

“Not today, no”, she says earnestly, and she pulls her fingers off from his. “I need a hot shower, the best omelette you know how to make —“

“Oh, so you lured me back to your place so I’d cook for you, Michelle? Is that what this is?”

“Maybe.” She lets out a huff and sits upright, smoothing her hands down her lap once Tony places his right hand back on the steering wheel. “Can we just… sleep the last day off and then deal with everything? Right now, all I care about is the fact that you’re alive, that you’re with me, that you walked out with nothing but a few bruises and a cut on your foot. Let’s - let's handle the rest later, okay?”

He knows better than to argue with her right now, and frankly, he feels just about the same way. Jen can go another few hours without an explanation or a phone call from him, and his laptop and the few pairs of jeans he owns won’t die back at her house if he doesn’t get to picking his shit up today.

Right now, this is the only place he wants to be. With her.

“All right. Let’s get you home.”

/////

He cooks the best omelette he knows how to — he’s rusty; Jen was never a breakfast-at-the-table-together kind of girl, and his usual breakfast of choice lately is a 1 P.M. granola bar and beer ‘brunch’. Yeah. He’ll deal with that later, too.

They eat in almost silence, just happy to be getting something in their bodies that isn’t the stale crackers Edgar had in one of his desk drawers back at CTU, just happy to be sitting here together. It feels almost… surreal, and he has to catch his breath a few times when he looks across the tiny kitchen table and is reminded of who it is sitting with him. 

She offers him the shower first, telling him she has a few of his old clothes in the top drawer of her dresser. “J-Just t-shirts and sweatpants I borrowed from you over the years,” she bites down on her lip, motioning for him to follow her toward the bedroom.

“More like, ‘ _bought for me and then stole_ ’, but a’right, thanks.” His cheeks flush a little at the fact that she kept a single one of his things, let alone a few, at all. “A-Are you sure you don’t wanna go first?”

“You’re bloodier than me,” she sheepishly reminds him while she holds a towel she snatched from the linen closet out in her hands. “Here. Be quick, okay? I’m tired.”

He is quick, watching the blood from the few cuts he obtained a couple of hours ago circle down Michelle’s bright, white bathtub and into the drain. He freaks out a few times about showering in his ex-wife’s shower, at the apartment she rented when she divorced him, and… they’ll deal with it later. Right now, he can hear Michelle pacing outside of the bathroom door, either eagerly waiting her turn or making sure he won’t make a run for it once he’s all clean, un-bloodied, and semi-human again. She’s been steadily watching him since he got back to CTU at six in the morning, and he doesn’t exactly hate it. No one’s cared about him with this much fierceness in a long time. He’s missed it; he’s missed her.

He steps out of the shower one foot at a time, the exhaustion creeping over his body even more than it did before. He steadies himself by propping his left hand up on the tile, and then wraps the towel around his waist. He looks up and finds Michelle pretending to be occupied by fussing with a few of her things on the bathroom counter, but he sees her watching him through the mirror.

“D-Do I still have shampoo in my hair or somethin’?”

“No.” She laughs, tugging down on her lip as she makes her way over to him, stepping in closer, but not as close as either of them really want to be. Just a few hours before, he told her that he wanted for them to be together again. That he hated being without her. She agreed; ‘ _I’m ready to leave here, I’m ready to go with you_ ’. A little touching should be acceptable after that, but yet they’re both still hesitating, like they’re invading each other’s spaces after so long. “Tony, I just — I love you, and I’m still freaking out about just how much, because we both did so many stupid things to each other, and — and I know you want to start over, and so do I, but —”

“But?” He’s a little more awake now, on alert, raising a brow at her. He doesn't know if he should let her continue, right now, but she does.

“I just want us to be able to forgive each other, for real, and not throw anything in each other’s faces. That means your drinking, my leaving, Buchanan — which really, was _nothing_ —,J-Jen.”

It almost pains her to say that last part, he sees it on her face. He lifts both of his hands up and cups her cheeks, pulling her in for a kiss. It’s the first time they’ve kissed since leaving CTU. Her lips surrender to his, and after a second, he pulls away, still keeping his hands on her face.

“Yeah, we — we can do that,” he assures her.

“Good. Because when you… when you got out of prison, you were _angry_ , Tony. Sometimes, I think you even hated me because of what you did to save my life, and I don’t blame you, I just… I want us to be able to get past that, because I can’t lose you again, okay? We need to get past that day, those horrible months, all of the things we said to each other.” 

He cringes at that, but mostly because she’s not entirely wrong. Then, he snickers, pulling her in for another quick kiss. “Hey, weren’t we dealin’ with all of this later because _someone_ ,” he pokes her on the shoulder, “wanted to sleep?”

/////

It’s scary how much almost everything seems to fall back into place for them, but he guesses that’s what happens when you never should’ve been apart in the first place.

It feels good being in the same space as each other again, they agree. Today, they're just grateful to wake up next to one another; their bodies pressed into each other's almost a little too desperately, her hair on his shoulder, his leg sprawled out on top of hers. When she wakes up out of her sleep for a second and squints at the clock next to her bed, she shakes him awake, only to make sure it's still him there. With a shaky breath, running her hand down his arm, she just says, "Good, you're still here.", and he asks her where the hell else he'd be. She doesn't say 'Jen's' like she almost wants to, because they aren't going to bring any of that up right now. Despite the orange light from the sunset peering in through her curtains, they go back to sleep for another few hours.

He talks to Jen the next day. It’s a brief phone call, a half-ass explanation of what went on that night at CTU, a sincere ‘thank you’ for her hospitality. Tony Almeida doesn’t know many women who’d let a man in his position take residence in their homes, drink their stockpile of beer, and hardly do a dish or two. He just doesn’t. She tells him to fuck off, and not to come crying to her when Michelle leaves him again. He tells her he won’t, and she won’t. She tells him his shit’ll be in garbage bags by the front door, and he doesn’t expect (or deserve) much more, really. 

She resigns from Division two days after that. She tells him that Bill is disappointed to lose her, but that he isn’t surprised, and he wishes she and Tony the best. “He understands that you either have this job, or a life. And I want a life now, so... I have to finish out my last two weeks and then I’m done. We’re done. We’re out.”

He almost goes numb, almost finds it hard to celebrate the news, because every time they’re _almost out_ or happily, uninterruptedly, together, something just has to come and fuck that up. He’s not gonna let that happen this time — he can’t. He knows she won’t either; she wants this just as much as he does. Tugging down on his lip, he asks her, “Y-You sure?” anyway.

“A resignation is a resignation, Tony. No plot twists. This is what we wanted, remember?”

“We did?” he jokes, and she smacks him on the arm. “Michelle, yes, of course, that’s — this is all I’ve ever wanted for us.”

She snakes both of her arms around his waist and pulls him in close to her. The last six months — eighteen, really — feel like they never even happened, in this moment. “Me too.”

He can't wait for them to be able to _finally_ move on from this part of their lives the way they should've a long time ago.

/////

They wait almost two weeks before they seriously talk about anything. In between that day at CTU and now, they’re just glad they’re together, in the same vicinity, _alive_ , that nothing else matters to them. He wants to wait until she’s officially done at work, until he can find the words to give her the apology she deserves, to explain to her how it’ll be different this time — he’s ready to be the husband he was before that day eighteen months ago, he is.

Michelle’s apartment — albeit small, empty, and ten times less homey than the place they once shared together — quickly becomes like home to him. She works longer hours than normal at Division, tying up loose ends and training her replacement. He spends all of his free time working on a project, a business idea he’ll bring up to her when she isn’t so overwhelmed, some of it searching for somewhere else for them to live; somewhere away from all of this and everything it reminds them of. They see each other for a brief dinner if she gets off early enough, share a few kisses, he asks her about her day and she asks him what he spends all day doing on the computer while she's gone. He knows it’s her gentle way of getting him to open up about the job searching he should be doing, but she doesn’t press it further when he says, “Uhhh, research” and it isn’t exactly a lie.

They get some sleep together, sometimes a shared shower before if it’s really late and she just wants to get into bed with him as quick as possible. She tells him how comforting it is to have someone— _h_ _im_ —holding her at night again, and he just squeezes tighter, closer, and makes a mental note to tell her they need to invest in a lighter comforter if she’s going to keep making him hug her like this in their sleep.

He feels wrong making love to her without having said everything he needs to though, without having laid everything out on the table that needs to be laid out. He can't just pretend all the shit that happened between them during the six months they spent together after prison... didn't. As much as they love each other, stuff like that doesn't get to just be erased, and he's not going to let it — he's not going to fuck anything up this time.

Every time she implies she wants him to, though, that she needs him and he needs her, that he can touch her below the waist, that they were _married, y’know_ , he just tells her she’s been working all day and she can get a grand six, maybe seven hours of sleep if they lay down _right now_. 

She doesn’t fight him on it even if she wants to — he knows she’s mostly still just happy, relieved he’s alive and breathing next to her. That feeling won't go away for awhile, he thinks.

Anyway, they’ll deal with it later, right?

One night, she comes in the door with this burst of energy that post-work Michelle just… doesn’t normally have. She kicks off her heels (she’ll worry about them later or tomorrow or the next day — or Tony will pick them up first, put them in their place in the closet, because he’s the neat freak of the two) and unties the loose bun her hair is in, making her way over to Tony, who’s watching the Cubs lose in the living room.

“Guess what?”

“You’re cooking tonight," he deadpans.

“Not a chance.” She leans forward and slides her arms down his chest, stopping at the ironed-on logo on his t-shirt and smirking. “You know, there’s no rule that says you need to be wearing Cubs gear to watch the game. Actually, I’d prefer it if you weren’t dressed at all. I want to celebrate. And you don’t get to use the excuse that I’ve got work in the morning, because I don’t.”

“Celebrate wha — Oh. Wait. Was it your —“

“Mmm-hmm. My last day. I’m officially _done_.”

His eyes widen at that, and he grabs the remote to mute the game, swiveling around to face her. He bites the inside of his cheek. “Before we… celebrate… Remember that talk we were supposed to have two weeks ago?”

She looks taken aback, but says, “Yeah, I do. Should - should we do that now?” She’s disappointed, but only because she’d rather them be taking each other’s clothes off in a fury in the bedroom right now. It’s been seven months since they’ve touched each other like that, and eighteen months since it's been as passionate as it always was, and she’s not the only one who’s been thinking about it the last two weeks, that’s for sure.

“I think so. Just… wait here a sec, okay?”

She unbuttons the first two buttons of her blouse and plops down in the same spot on the couch he just got up from. “Okay.”

He comes out from her bedroom a few minutes later, both of his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “The reason—,” he clears his throat, standing in front of her, “the reason I wasn’t able to have sex with you these last couple of weeks is because we never, y’know, officiated anything.”

“I think me telling you that I loved you more than I even realized was officiating something, but okay, go ahead."

”I wanted to, trust me. Do you know how hard it was for me to wait two weeks to make love to you?”

”Clearly not too difficult.”

“Michelle, don’t do this, don’t be annoyed. I’m trying to talk to ya.” He takes her delicate hands in his and brushes his fingertips over her knuckles, then raises one of her hands to his mouth and kisses it.

“You deserve an apology — a real one, not a half-assed one in the bullpen at CTU after you thought I was killed. As much as we could've just... gone back to how things were before, it wouldn't have been fair to either of us. A lot of shit's happened between us, Michelle, and I think we need to talk about it."

She looks down at the floor and swallows thickly, and then runs the hand he just kissed through her hair, letting it get caught between the curls that have made their reappearance over the last two weeks. "We could've talked about it two weeks ago, Tony. Would've saved us both _a_ _lot_ of frustration, if you know what I mean."

He disagrees. "You’ve been working like crazy Michelle, and I… I needed time to think of exactly what I wanted to say to you, to think about all of _this_ , so just… hear me out, a’right?”

She shakes her head slightly, but lets him continue. Their unexpected reunion has been overwhelming for her, too. Despite how badly she wants her husband back, for things to be as steady as they once were, it’s been a little intimidating to try and jump back in with both feet after the six months of hell they’d gone through to get... well... here.

“You were right, what you said to me that day. There were times where I did hate you, but I had no right to. _I_ chose to put myself in that position to save you, knowing the risks. And I meant it when I said I’d do it again, just to know you were safe.”

”Tony...”

”Sweetheart, you — you were really good to me when I got out, and I didn't deserve it. Not with the way I was being. I sat around here drinking all of our liquor and you acted like I saved the damn world on the days I actually got out of bed before 1 P.M. and got up from the couch.” He catches the way she bites the inside of her cheek and looks down at the floor instead of at him, but continues. “I was bitter, and I pushed you away. I saved your life because you _are_ my life, and yet that wasn’t a good enough reason when I was pissed off at how everything went down, so I punished you by pushing you away.”

”I punished you by leaving you,” she retorts.

”I deserved it. I barely spoke to you towards the end.”

She gulps at that admission, but only because it’s true. She doesn’t dare to deny it, and it’s about damn time he admits it out loud. He’s never been much of a talker — and not much of a long-winded apology kind of guy either, but he’s trying to be better. Better than his usual: ‘Sorry. We good now?’

“So before we… Obviously we’re back together, obviously we love each other. I mean, I’ve gotta really love you, living in this apartment with practically _no food_ —”

“You know I hate grocery shopping, Tony,” she interrupts.

“Before we left a lot of things unsaid and just jumped back into our normal routine, I needed to do that. I needed to say how sorry I am for actin’ how I acted after prison. I’m sorry I flipped out on you about Bill, about working late, about you just trying to help me get my shit together. That’s… that’s what husbands and wives do for each other, but I was too busy being angry at you for something you didn’t do to realize that, so. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Michelle.”

She tells him in a whisper that it’s okay, really, and then she reaches a hand out to touch his forehead, pressing her palm there for a long minute. “Just making sure you don’t have a fever. _Three_ ‘I’m sorry’s in a minute? Who are you and what the hell did you do with Tony Almeida?”

“I just needed you to know that. I know you told me you’ve already forgiven me, but I needed to give you a real reason to, all right?”

“Yeah. All right. You’re forgiven, honey. I promise. I just want to get past this and start our lives — for real, this time.” She tugs down on her lip and adds, “Remember those babies your mom has been begging for practically since we got married?”

He scratches his cheek and can’t even hold back a grin at that. “Yeah. I want all that too.”

She steps even closer to him, taking both of her hands and running them down his torso. ”Good.”

“I’m — I was never a perfect husband to you, but I was always a good one, before everything happened. You deserve a good husband again, Michelle.”

“I have one,” she says simply, confidently. 

He digs into the left pocket of his jeans, pulling out something small and palming it in his hand. “Speaking of. This… this is for you,” he tells her, reaching for her hand with his own, “if you want it.”

She’s a little surprised. “Y-You kept my wedding ring?”

“You threw it at me in the bar a few days before the divorce was finalized, remember?” 

Unfortunately, she remembers. 

“I’m a sentimental son of a bitch, Michelle. Also, those rings cost me two months' salary. I wasn’t just gonna toss ‘em in the ocean or whatever people who aren’t married anymore do to their rings.”

She scrunches her nose at that and nods wordlessly, knowing if she were to say anything else she might start crying on him. She’s not a moment-ruiner, though, so she just quietly says, “Y-Yeah, I want it.”

“How romantic. Say ‘please’.”

“ _Please_ give me my ring back, Tony.”

He slides it onto her finger, studying it for a minute before putting back on his own with a shaky hand. He hasn't worn this thing in months, but he's never not known where it was. He's always kept the rings in a safe place, part of him — a small part, but a part — waiting for a day like this one.

“You,” he stops to press a long kiss to her cheekbone, “are everything to me.”

Her face flushes pink as she says, “Me too. I love you."

“I know, I love you too. Hey, so this means you can un-divorce me now, right?”

She leans forward to smooch him on the neck, and then giggles into his shoulder. God, he's missed her laugh. “Something like that.”  
  


/////


End file.
